Alice, Angel
by RoseGabriel
Summary: A chance meeting. A casual arrangement. Mutually pleasurable. But never as simple as all that. Alice Klein has visited Brooklyn often enough, but she's never happened across the infamous Spot Conlon in person before. Upon meeting him, she finds that the male descriptions she's used to don't do him justice-he's much more charming and rugged than that.
1. Chapter 1

On Thursday, November 2nd, Alice packed a trunk, ordered a coach, and left Boston, Maryland for Brooklyn, New York. Because it was late afternoon and she would not be riding through the night, she'd opted to buy a ticket that would seat her in one of the non-sleeping compartments. Once, her aunt had paid for her to have a private compartment, but since her death years previously, leaving her only son with debts he'd before been unaware of, Alice traveled in more standard accommodations. Henry and Alice had grown up more as siblings than as cousins, as Alice's mother died when she was a child and she'd moved in with her mother's sister, Elsbeth. Alice and Henry had lived a simple but comfortable life, only learning after Elsbeth's death when they were teenagers that they'd been living on credit for nearly a decade. Henry had been devastated. He'd been an apprentice in a large printing shop with money set aside to open his own shop, but instead all his savings had gone to a funeral and settling his mother's debts. Even his savings had only put a dent in the total amount owed. Alice had worked as a secretary for a local business man since she was 13, but at 17 she used her former employer's recommendation to move to Boston where she became secretary for a successful lawyer. The increase in pay was enough to allow her to send money to Henry periodically.

He'd first tried to continue living in the spacious apartment they'd grown up in, but ultimately he was forced to move to a different part of town, to a tenement where he lived with three other young men in similar situations. He continued working at the printing shop, but had seemingly given up on his dream of ever opening one of his own. Alice had not given up on this dream for him and still felt sure they could make it happen. He'd promised her work in his shop someday, and though she had a comfortable life in Boston, she missed being near her family and felt sure working with Henry would be more fulfilling.

Her employer, Mr. James Sedaris, was a public defender who worked cases all along the East Coast. He worked tirelessly, often round-the-clock, and only took off work around the holidays. He took off the entire month of November, which enabled Alice to be off as well, Christmas day, and New Year's Day. Otherwise, they worked. He could be gruff and demanded almost all of her time, but he was generally fair and compensated her well. Furthermore, he had never done anything to make her feel uncomfortable, even working late alone together, which was almost unheard of anywhere else. Typically, as she was now, she spent her month off with Henry, staying with him in Brooklyn to fit in a years' worth of time together. Being only five months apart, they had always been close, even before Alice moved in with him and Elsbeth.

Alice spent her train ride reading and making light conversation with those sharing her compartment. About five, they went together to the dining car and had a light supper before returning to their compartment for the remainder of the journey. When she got off in Brooklyn, there was a boy with her trunk on a cart waiting for her and he wheeled it before her to a waiting area next to the ticket office and unloaded it there, accepting her tip before leaving. She leaned wearily against the trunk, which was standing up on one end, and scanned the busy street in front of her for a cart that might have Henry in it. Usually he could get away with borrowing the one owned by the shop and could avoid hiring one. A few feet away, a newsie was hawking headlines—something about westward expansion—and Alice waved him over, not wanting to leave her chest, and reached into her waistband for a penny.

"Evenin, Doll," the newsie said, dipping his head in a nod. "Nice night."

"It is nice," Alice agreed, smiling up at him. He seemed older than most newsies typically were, closer to her age than 14, 15, 16 as was common. The corner of his mouth twitched up like he was enjoying the way she was looking at him, and Alice looked down quickly at his hand, holding out her paper, which she took.

"Ya new in town?" he asked, shifting the remaining stack of papers under his arm and tilting his head to look her over.

"Just visiting," she said.

"Ya need a tour guide?"

Alice looked back up into his face and he was looking hard in her eyes and smirking.

"I'd love ta show ya around," he added, donning a more innocent expression.

"I already have someone to do that for me, thank you," Alice answered, but she smiled and shook her head. Someone passing by on his way into the street bumped Alice's shoulder and the newsie put a hand out to steady her, settling it around her waist.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry," the offending stranger said, tipping his hat to her, and then she straightened and brushed the newsie's hand away.

"Thank you," she said. "For the paper and for your kind offer of companionship."

"Anytime, Darlin," he grinned and took his hat all the way off his head, pressing it to his chest. "If ya change yer mind, you know where ta find me."

He turned and walked past her, further into the train depot, once again hoisting his newspapers to his shoulder, one thrust in the air as he called out the headline. Alice shook open the one she had purchased and scanned through the tidbits of news while she waited for Henry. She wasn't very far along when she heard her name being called and he rolled up in the print shop's cart.

"Hey, Cuz," he greeted her, grinning, and he jumped down from the cart and pulled her into a hug.

"You look thin," Alice teased, harkening back to something their mothers always told them as a way of showing affection.

"Growing thinner every day," Henry answered. "You don't seem to be any worse for wear." He held her back at arms' length and looked her over. "I'd guess you've put on a few pounds."

"Oh, stop," Alice laughed, swatting at him with her refolded paper.

"Is this everything?" he asked, lifting her trunk up onto his shoulder.

"If you mean almost everything I own, yes."

"It feels that way."

Henry heaved the trunk into the back of the cart, which creaked on its axels, causing the horse to shuffle a bit, then he climbed up onto the bench and reached over to help Alice in.

"Are you hungry?" he asked as he flicked the horse on.

"I ate on the train and the answer is still 'yes.'"

"Good, I waited for you," he said.

 **A/N: If you've read my Newsies fics before, you know I like to write Spot in a lot of different ways-see my profile for more on that. So don't expect him to read like he does in my other ongoing fic! As fair warning, _Alice, Angel_ will have considerably more language and explicit sexual content than anything else I've done to date, so if that's going to bother you you'd be better off sticking with my other fics :) I'm very excited about this story and I'd love love love feedback as I go along! Feel free to message me with requests and review, pretty please!**


	2. Chapter 2

They spent the first part of the week eating together on Henry's lunch breaks and going out in the evenings—to the theater, for Italian food around the corner, to the vaudeville, even to a ballgame one night. Despite having lost a whole purse full of coins sometime during her journey, Alice convinced Henry to let her treat him as she was subletting her Boston apartment for the month and so had extra income from saving on rent and utilities. She didn't tell him about the lost money, not wanting to worry him, and so he let her do so. At night, they played cards and dice with Henry's roommates and sat up talking by lamplight until the men shuffled to bed before early-morning work. Henry lived in a large, barren apartment with worn wooden floors and peeling walls. Most of the area was open—a small kitchen, a table and chairs, an old couch and rocking chair pulled up around the wood stove, a sideboard cluttered with chipped drink ware and empty bourbon and whiskey bottles. What remained of the apartment was split into two rooms, a narrow bathroom between them. Henry and Sam slept in one of the rooms, and Ethan and Brian in the other. When Alice visited, the boys all slept in Ethan and Brian's room, dragging Sam's bed in and pushing the three together, all squeezing in. Alice got Henry's room and his bed. She usually waited until they were all gone for the morning to use the shared bathroom. Often she was still asleep when they left, but sometimes she got up to cook them breakfast before their days started.

Their first Saturday was one such day that Alice got up when they boys did to cook. Before he left, Henry told her he had something special planned for that night.

"Spot Conlon's hosting a shindig down at the docks," he said. "It'll be a lot of newsies, but factory guys and such, too. A little rougher than our usual crowd, but I know you're curious about Conlon and a lot of the guys will have their girls there so it should stay pretty tame."

"Ah, I can finally meet Spot Conlon," Alice teased. He was Brooklyn street trash royalty and she'd heard the boys talking about him often but had never met him herself. Even having lived in Brooklyn as a child, she and Henry had never run with that crowd. If she'd met him then, she hadn't known it. Spot Conlon had started to feel like an urban legend to her. His name seemed to crop up in all kinds of stories involving various unsavory characters—Alice wasn't sure what he "did" exactly, just that he wasn't a newsie anymore but still lived in the lodging house and dabbled here and there with local crime lords. The way the boys had always talked about him, he was cold and commanding and scary. She used to tease them about their obvious fear of someone their own age, but then, as said, she had never met him herself.

In her mind, he wore a dingy bowler hat and ill-fitting vest that let the shirt billow up between it and his waistband, and he twirled a cheap pocket watch with short, stubby fingers brown from chewing tobacco. In her imagination, he looked closer to 40 than to 19 or 20, but there was just something so cartoonish about her impression of him that the knowledge she couldn't possibly have him pictured correctly didn't actually do anything to change her mental image.

Truthfully, she was excited to catch a glimpse of him. And she was excited by the prospect of a party. She always liked going to those put on by the lower classes rather than those of the upper. They were rowdy and cheerful and everyone cut loose and had a good time rather than mingling stiffly through stuffy ballrooms. Furthermore, Henry had told her to dress up and that meant wearing her good dress—the deep burgundy one with the quarter-length sleeves and dipping neckline, the one that lightened her complexion and brought out the green in her eyes and the red in her light brown hair and the one that slipped over her figure just right. If she could have worn that dress every day without ruining it, and therefore ruining its appeal, she would have.

Having the majority of the day to whittle away before the evening's festivities, Alice dressed in her normal, everyday clothes and walked down the street and over a few blocks to the outdoor market. She carried a basket on her hip that quickly filled with fresh-baked bread, sugar, coffee grounds, a block of cheese, wrapped turkey, dry beans, and—a real treat—fresh strawberries. It was heavy on her arm and she still had to complete the market circuit and walk back to Henry's apartment, but she didn't mind so much as the weather remained seasonably warm, with a crisp breeze that felt good in her chest.

As she browsed fresh flowers at the florist's stall, considering weaving something into her hair for the night, she heard a throat clear behind her and a low, amused voice asked, "buy me last pape, Doll?"

Alice turned to find the same newsie from the train station, a single paper held out toward her. His thin lips were drawn up at one side and his head was inclined slightly in a shallow nod of respect. She smiled, surprised to run into him so far from where she'd seen him last, but not altogether displeased. She didn't have any reason to be unhappy at seeing him.

"Hello again," she greeted him, and reached into her waistband for a penny, handing it over to him and taking his paper-though she'd already read that morning's-adding the paper to her heavy basket.

"Isn't it a little late to still be selling the morning addition?" She teased.

His eyebrows raised. "So you're a newsie? Ya know how quickly it oughta sell?"

"No, just seems like you're typically done by now."

"I don like ta give me last pape away ta just anyone," he explained, his blue eyes spreading with his easy smile. "I saved it special, hopin I'd sees youse again."

Alice felt the smile on her face spreading in spite of herself. She didn't see any harm in flirting a little—it was unlikely she'd ever see him again. That she'd already run into him twice was surprising. And, there was something alluring about him. Maybe his eyes, how translucent they were. Or maybe the rigid slant of his angular jaw, or maybe his broad shoulders, or the sandy hair that could be seen under the brim of his cabbie hat.

Or maybe the smile—devious but somehow still charming—and all the while self-aware, if that were something a smile could be. Alice could tell by the look on his face and the way he held his body that he was flirting, that he knew he was flirting, and that he was counting on her knowing he was flirting, too.

"You got lucky, then," she answered finally.

"Lucky enough ta walk a pretty goil home?" He asked.

This guy. Maybe a little too charming. Most men didn't have the nerve—or the impropriety—to make their attraction so blatant. There was only one way, Alice thought, that he could be so gutsy and so smooth at the same time, and that was that he was very well practiced and had been met with much success.

Still, despite realizing this, she passed her basket to his outstretched hand and accepted his other arm, placing one hand lightly around his elbow, barely hovering there, allowing him to turn them back through the crown and up the street the way she'd come.

"Which way?" He asked when they came up on a corner.

"I half expected you to know already," Alice answered lightly. "You have, after all, quite clearly been keeping tabs on me."

His eyebrow tipped up again as he looked down on her and they laughed a little together.

"No such thing, Sweet'eart," he answered, looking forward again. "Just fate dat keeps pushin us tagether."

They walked along a ways in silence. Without anything to retort to, Alice wasn't sure what to say to someone she knew nothing about. She didn't usually talk to strangers, especially not strange men, and it was as if she remembered this suddenly. She pulled up short and withdrew her hand from his arm, stepping back from him. She was only blocks away from the house she was staying in, only blocks away from letting a complete stranger into that house.

"Wassa mattah, Doll?" Her companion asked her, seemingly unphased by her abrupt change in behavior.

"I don't know you," Alice said. She looked uncomfortably toward her basket of groceries, which now seemed to be held hostage on his opposite arm.

"Doncha wanna know me?" This comment could have made her feel more uncomfortable, could have been heavy with implications, but it wasn't. It was just a question.

She looked at him guardedly, studied his light, surprisingly open eyes and his parted lips.

"Are you one of Spot's newsies?" She asked.

He laughed, which surprised her.

"I'm a Brooklyn newsie," he said, "so yeah."

"I'm going to your party tonight," Alice said.

"At da docks?" Now it was his turn to be surprised.

"Yes, my cousin and I are going. Will you be there?"

"I'll be dere." He dipped his head to catch her eyes with his, intent. "I'm glad you'll be dere. I'll buy ya a drink."

Alice smiled at him again like she had been before, before she had caught herself. "I don't drink," she said.

"None of us did before we met Conlon," he joked. "He drives ya to it."

"Is he so bad?"

"Nah, not so bad. Tough, but so's Brooklyn. And fair. Ya never met im?"

She shook her head.

"I want to," she admitted. "He sounds...intriguing."

He laughed. "Sure, Doll. I'll introduce ya."

"Will you?"

"Course. He'd be pissed if I let an angel like youse get by 'im unnoticed."

Alice looked away and shifted with embarrassment under his gaze, but she was pleased. Seeming to take the hint, he passed her basket back to her and reached for her hand.

"Til tanight den, Angel," he murmured, and brushed his lips across her hand, leaving her blushing in the middle of the street.

When she got back up into the apartment, she noticed that the paper she'd bought wasn't in the basket. When Henry walked in, he carried an armful of flowers.

"Are those for me?" Alice asked in surprise, taking the loose collection of daisies and babies breath.

"I don't know," Henry answered, frowning. "They were leaning against the door just now when I got home."

"You didn't buy them?"

"No. Who knows you're here? Who else do you know in Brooklyn?"

Alice didn't answer, because she was just realizing that the flowers were the same ones she'd been eyeing at the market, and that they were wrapped in newspaper.

 **A/N: Thanks for sticking with the story so far! I know there is some background in these first couple of chapters that can get a little boring, but I try to keep it as minimal as possible and not let it take away to much from the main focus. I had some questions about the first chapter being replace from something totally different before, and that is true-originally I planned to do a frame story, but then decided to just go in chronological order so I replaced Chapter 1 within like a day. What do you think so far? Do you like Alice's newsie suitor or is he creepy? ;) Read, favorite, request, review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Henry, Sam, Ethan, Brian, and Alice left the apartment after 9:00 that night and began the walk across town to the docks. The boys wore clean, pressed shirts and vests and had slicked back their hair. Their shoes were shined. Alice had braided her hair long down her back and then pinned it up against the nape of her neck, weaving in stems of the babies breath. Behind one ear, she'd pinned a single daisy blossom. She wore a dark teal dress with swaths of lace draped around the widest part of the skirt and a pointed bodice that narrowed at the waist. The sleeves were solid from shoulder to forearm, and then there was netting with lace appliques to the wrists, clasped with pearl buttons. The same netting and lace spread over her shoulders and up her neck, buttoning at her hair line. Henry had talked her out of any embellishment beyond the flowers in her hair—he'd even been skeptical of the dress she'd chosen. He seemed concerned about the quality of company they'd be joined by that evening, but when Alice had asked him why he was willing to take her to such a party as that, he'd said no more about the dress.

It was dark but the night was young so the streets remained busy and noisy. They walked about 20 minutes to the docks; Alice had been flushed at first, the lace netting of her dress clinging to her damp skin, but as they came nearer to the docks, she felt the air thicken and cool and could smell the salty breeze that refreshed her.

They were blocks away when they could first hear the party in full-swing—voices swelled over the low lap of the waves, and there was ice clinking in glasses and the crackle of a fire, and over all of that someone was playing a fiddle. When they rounded the final building and stepped out into the wide, flat shipyard, Alice could see what was at least 100 people dancing and drinking and laughing. Four long tables had been carried from the nearby lodging house to the trampled grass just off the main dock, and the tables were stacked with jars of licorice, gum drops, gumballs—even squares of gold-wrapped chocolate. There were a few pies and a single chocolate cake. The rest of the table space was dominated by an assortment of mismatched, chipped glassware, and jugs of booze. There were some wooden dining chairs scattered throughout the crowd, a few upholstered bar stools with torn seats, even some dusty, sagging recliners. Some sat, a few, but most stood by the tables or around the roaring fire at one end, and some danced in the wide field to the left of the fire, where the fiddler played.

The nearer they came to the revelry, Alice realized she was searching the crowd for the one that might be Spot Conlon, but no one matched that cartoonish, middle-aged figure in the bowler hat that she had concocted in her mind. She took hold of Henry's arm and they immersed themselves in the throng, the boys skirting off in other directions as they saw friends or coworkers or sweethearts. In the end, just Alice and Henry approached the long tables for drinks. Henry poured them both something from a large, clear jug, and Alice took one sip before the fire clouded her chest and made her cough.

"That's serious stuff," Henry agreed, laughing and patting her back. "You don't have to drink it." Alice tried another sip with a similar effect and shook her heard.

"Not sure I'll be able to!" she laughed. "But I'm going to hold it at least. Can't let the locals know I can't handle it." Henry nudged her shoulder in solidarity and excused himself to greet some friends. Alice stayed by the table. She reached out for a strand of licorice and tore off a tough bite of it in her mouth, jaw working hard to chew.

"You came."

Alice felt a hand on the small of her back and turned to face the familiar newsie, still chewing the licorice, laughing with tight lips at the timing and putting her free hand to her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she said behind her hand.

"S'alright, Doll," he grinned. He wasn't wearing his usual cabbie hat and his light hair swung loose over his ears and forehead. He still had his hand against her back. Alice didn't mind but it made her nervous. She could feel one of his fingers brushing lightly against her dress. She swallowed her bite and dropped the rest of the licorice onto the bare tabletop behind her.

"Have you come to introduce me to Mr. Conlon?" she asked, unsure of what else to say. He faltered, looked disappointed, glanced around.

"I was hopin you'd like ta spend some time wid me, first," he said. "Maybe go fer a walk."

"Oh," Alice smiled. She could tell that he wasn't willing to share her with Spot just yet, and she liked that. "Okay, yes. Please."

He took her hand and led her the shortest distance through the crowd, deeper into the shipyard and further onto the dock, his hand warm around hers. Even when they'd left the party behind them, he didn't drop her hand.

"I'm glad ya came," he said presently, strolling slowly with his opposite hand in his pocket. "I got something ta tell ya."

"Oh?"

He withdrew his hand from his pocket and turned to face her, holding something out to her.

"That's my coin purse!" she exclaimed in surprise. "I thought I'd lost it forever, where did you find it?"

"Das the t'ing. I didn' find it. I was da one ta take it from ya. At da train station."

Alice frowned and thought back through that first meeting. She couldn't remember him ever being close enough to take anything, let alone the thing she had been most mindful of. She took the coin purse out of his hand but didn't have anywhere to put it and just stood holding it and facing him.

"I don't see how—" she said.

"Someone bumped inta ya," he answered. "When I reached out ta steady ya, I took it. I could see it in yer waistband."

"Ah."

"There's every penny in dere dat was dere when I took it. Ya kin count if ya want."

"No. I believe you."

He didn't apologize. They stood in the dark silence. Neither spoke or moved.

"I didn' know ya den," he said finally, as if that explained his actions.

"You don't know me now," Alice replied.

"Whas yer name, Doll?" he asked.

"Alice," she whispered. The dark was close and the night was cool and blew against her neck. She leaned closer to him, suddenly nervous.

He took her hand again and bent to kiss it.

"Nice ta meet ya, Alice," he said. The way he said her name made her blush. His voice wrapped around the word, cushioned it, set it gently out before her.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Ya still wanna know me?" he asked. "Even afta I took yer purse?"

"You did give it back," she shrugged, then smiled. "And you bought me the flowers. I didn't yet thank you for that."

"Ya look beautiful."

"Thank you."

He tilted his head and leaned it down to hers.

"Dance wid me."

"What?"

"Dance wid me, Angel."

"Here?"

"I can hear da music. Can't you?"

They weren't so far away from the festivities that they couldn't still hear the strain of the violin and the raised voices.

He put an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest, drawing the other hand up her arm and folding it around her hand. Alice could smell something spicy—maybe bourbon—against his neck, and his shirt was smoky. She pressed her cheek against him, warming it on his skin. They swayed in the dark to the violin so many yards away and again didn't speak to one another.

"Why ya so interested in Spot Conlon?" he asked when the song was ending. He pulled back to see her face but didn't let her go.

"He's something of a curiosity to me," Alice admitted, ducking her head. "I just can't wrap my head around him. He sounds interesting."

"He's nothin special," he answered, grinning. "Truthfully, Doll, I'm not so excited ta introduce ya."

"No? Why's that?"

"I'm afraid you'll like him better den ya do me."

Alice laughed. "I don't think so."

"No?"

"I like you," she admitted.

"Well I like ya too, Sweet'eart," he answered. His smile widened, lifting up at one corner, crooked. He leaned in closer to her, his arms suddenly holding her tightly in place, and Alice felt her stomach flip and drew some of the cold air into her chest suddenly.

"I still don't know your name," she stammered.

"It ain't important," he murmured and pressed his lips against hers before she could come up with anything else to say.

His hand reached up to cup her cheek behind her ear. Alice stretched up on her toes to deepen the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt his breathing hitch against her and his lips parted hers and continued moving.

"Spot," she breathed, letting her hands fall to his chest and easing him back, away from her. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing heavily, a smile cracking his lips.

"Too much, Angel?"

"You admitted it," Alice said.

"That I like ya? That I took yer purse? That I don't wanna share you with Conlon? All of it."

"No," she breathed, shaking her head against him, smiling.

"You are Conlon."

He pulled back, face suddenly tight and stoic. "What?"

"I just called you Spot and you answered," Alice said softly, extracting herself from his arms.

He didn't know what to say. That was clear to her. He opened his mouth once and closed it again.

"You're not what I expected," Alice continued. "I thought you'd be older. Fatter. Certainly not that you'd be…" she gestured to him. "Like this?"

"What's dat like, Angel?" Spot asked, something flickering back through his eyes again.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I taught ya might be disappointed."

"You've lied to me twice now."

"I'm used to it. You'll get used to it, too."

Alice laughed because his answer caught her off guard and she didn't know what else to do. She was mad, a little. She felt like every interaction they'd had so far had been forced. She still clutched the coin purse in her left hand, a reminder that their first meeting had ended in a crime. Her lips still tingled from his, a reminder that he'd used the lies to make a move on her. She'd expected him to apologize but he hadn't. She hadn't expected him to be Spot Conlon and he was.

She studied him. He was studying her, his blue eyes trailing over her face, his head dipped low in what might have been remorse, but a smirk played at the side of his mouth—crooked again—and his hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her again. Knowing now that he was Spot, Alice felt nervous. It was like knowing his name made him a different person.

"I don't apologize," Spot said.

"I don't guess you would," Alice answered. They continued regarding each other, neither sure how to proceed. Finally, Alice stepped back up to him, stretched up, and kissed him again, her arms at her sides. He kissed her back but he didn't touch her. He breathed into her, and something trembled through his body like a chill.

When she pulled back again, she liked the surprise in his eyes. She imagined Spot Conlon wasn't normally surprised. He looked pleased, too. Alice's stomach was in knots. She took in a deep breath and blew it out too quickly, all at once.

"That was my move," she said. "What's yours?"

 **A/N: Well? Was anyone surprised that it turned out to be Spot? He was hard to describe in earlier scenes because you all know him so well that almost any detail gives him away! Do you think Alice should have run him through the ringer a little more or are you excited to get to the romance? I look forward to hearing what you thought of this chapter!** **Read, favorite, request, review!**


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